


We need never be ashamed of our tears

by stardust009



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 15:51:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1784662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardust009/pseuds/stardust009
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Musketeers may not die easily but they do sometimes cry. One story for a time when they’ve each cried in front of the others, for both happy and sad reasons.</p><p>Chapter one - Porthos and his horse<br/>Chapter two - D'Artagnan and the wedding dress<br/>Chapter three - Aramis and the church<br/>Chapter four - Athos and the battle<br/>Chapter five - The kitchen</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Porthos

**Author's Note:**

> Written for kink prompt - "One time each of the four boys cried in front of the others. Sad or happy. First time or not. Expected or not. Mostly looking for gen, but if the pairing muse strikes, I'd very much prefer an 0T3/4. :)"

None of the musketeers were assigned a specific horse but they all had their favourite. Often, if they knew that they were on duty, they would head to the stable a little early to see if their favourite horse was available. 

Athos’ favourite horse was Basile. A senior horse who was close to retirement. Basile had seen many battles and had a couple of scars to prove it. Athos liked him because he was the most steady and reliable horse in the entire garrison. He was also an old soul and Athos seemed to find some comfort in that. In fact, Athos smiled more for Basile than he ever did for humans.

Aramis’ favourite horse was a mare called Coquette who was a very beautiful horse. She was the colour of rich chestnut and her coat always shone. Her mane was long and almost reached the bottom of her elegant neck. She never ran away from a fight, often riding past firing guns without showing any fear. The only problem with Coquette was that she had a tendency to stroll off if you didn’t tie her up. There had been, on quite a few occasions, a rather annoying wait at the end of a fight as Aramis had to race off after his horse who had chosen to go on her own adventure. 

D’Artagnan’s favourite horse was another mare called Felice. She was a skewbald horse and had various white patches all over her, including a white stripe down her face. She had only recently finished her training and she was very keen to please. Once in a while she stood the wrong way round whilst on parade but the others insisted that was more of the fault of the rider than the horse, despite d’Artagnan’s protests. 

Porthos’ favourite horse was a large stallion called Titus. He was dark bay in colour and a good bit taller than all of the other horses. Most of the musketeers were too scared to ride Titus, considering Titus also had a reputation for throwing his riders off one in a while, but Titus had bonded with Porthos and Porthos was never thrown off. Porthos loved Titus.

As soon as a group of musketeers were gathered together by Treville and told about an explosion in a prison which had led to some of the prisoners escaping, Porthos immediately raced to the stables. If they were going to hunt down prisoners he wanted Titus with him. The horse was in the end stable block, standing proudly as he saw Porthos approach with a saddle.

“Hey there, boy,” Porthos said, putting the saddle down and pulling out a carrot which he had smuggled from the kitchen before the briefing. Titus ate it hungrily. Porthos leaned forward and pressed his face up against Titus’ nose, the horse pushed back affectionately before snorting.

“Do you two need a room?” came the teasing voice of Aramis from nearby. Porthos smiled and pulled his face away from Titus, patting the stallion on the neck.

“I haven’t seen him for three whole days. I’ve missed him,” Porthos pointed out as he opened the stable door and carried the saddle with him.

“You don’t seem very sad when you don’t see me for three days,” Aramis responded. 

“Yeah,” Porthos said with a chuckle. “What does that tell you?” 

He looked over just in time to see Aramis pout. 

The fight happened on a grey afternoon two days later. They knew that the prisoners were armed as there had been reports of weapons being stolen all over Paris. Whilst two had been caught in Paris, rumours were that the others had escaped into the forest, heading away from the city. It had taken Athos and company two days to track them down via horseback but they eventually did. Only the prisoners were not going to go back to prison quietly. Using pistols and swords they fought fiercely, determined not to return to dark, cold cells. Whilst the group of musketeers didn’t blame them, it was still their duty to return the convicted criminals to Paris. The fighting was intense, the men were willing to die before being captured but the musketeers were under orders not to kill unless they had to. Athos was barking instructions when he could and his fellow soldiers obeyed as always. When one prisoner was beaten, it would take two of them to tie him to a tree to stop him from escaping again. 

Aramis put his sword away to reload his pistol before taking aim. He pulled at the trigger and managed to shoot a man running away in the leg. The man fell to the ground screaming in agony. It wasn’t ideal to shoot the prisoners but it did the trick, Aramis figured. He started to reload again. In the meantime Athos and d’Artagnan were currently battling four prisoners wielding swords. Whilst they didn’t seem to be skilled swordsmen, their sheer desperation made them difficult to bring down, especially when the Athos and d’Artagnan were trying not to hurt them. Porthos was on Titus and riding around the battle in a circle, attempting to stop any of the prisoners from escaping. It worked well. One look at Titus and the prisoners ran in the opposite direction, back into the path of the other musketeers. That was until Porthos spotted something. He saw some legs sticking out from behind a tree. He rode closer and discovered that it was a man cowering from the fight. Porthos jumped off Titus and went over with rope, ready to tie the man up. Until, as he got closer, the man looked up and started shivering. In fact he was barely a man at all, more a boy, probably younger than d’Artagnan. A skinny thing too. 

“Please, please don’t take me back there,” he begged, the fear clear in his voice. Porthos sighed a little as he moved even closer.

“Look there’s nothing I can do. Let’s just make this as easy as possible, ay?”

He held out the rope, hoping that the boy would understand but then a shot rang out and bark flew up between their feet. It made the boy scream and put his hand over his ears. Porthos looked around trying to see who had fired. All he could see was a couple of sword battles and musketeers running after prisoners either on foot or on horses.

“Calm down,” Porthos said, trying to help the lad. “Come on.” 

He held out his hand and the boy took it. Porthos pulled him up but his eyes were still on the trees, trying to see where the shooter was.

“Aramis!” he yelled, deciding that help wouldn’t be such a bad thing. He looked over at Titus who was lingering nearby and was just trying to make a quick decision about if they should hide behind a tree or run for the horse when he felt something hard hit him around the back of the head and he fell to the grass. Everything went black before he hit the ground. 

He could hear moaning and it took him a few seconds before he realised that it was himself making the noise.

“Take it easy, big guy,” came the familiar voice of Aramis. A hand was pressing on his shoulder and he blinked slowly, trying to open his eyes.

“What happened?” he mumbled, wondering why his head was throbbing.

“You were hit over the head with a rock,” Aramis explained. “The great Porthos, taken down by a lanky child.” There was a hint of amusement in the voice of his friend until he heard a stern ‘Aramis’ coming from Athos. Porthos now had his eyes opened and he was looking up at blurred versions of his friends. 

“That kid hit me with a rock?”

Aramis nodded, he was kneeling beside Porthos as the other two stood. “I saw him do it so I ran over to help. The boy has something terribly wrong with him. He attacked me, jump on me and bit into my neck.” Aramis pulled down his collar to show a rather bloody wound. “I was trying to fight him off and then, suddenly, out of no-where……” Aramis stopped talking and swallowed.

“What?” Porthos asked, pushing himself up so he was sitting despite the pain in his head. 

“One of the prisoners had a pistol,” Aramis explained, although his face was full of sadness. Porthos felt confused. They were all there, he felt fine apart from his sore head, why was Aramis sad? Had the kid been shot? Suddenly Porthos didn’t feel very sympathetic towards that boy. Was one of the other musketeers dead?

“I’m so sorry, Porthos,” Aramis said which did nothing to explain anything.

“About what?!” he almost yelled, getting frustrated at the fact Aramis wouldn’t just come out with whatever it was. Aramis opened and closed his mouth a couple of times like the words weren’t coming out so d’Artagnan stepped forward and spoke instead. 

“It’s Titus....”

Porthos gasped, his chest suddenly felt constricted. His head turned as he looked around and there, sure enough, the beast of a horse lay on the ground not far from them.

“No,” he gasped, hardly wanting to believe what was slowly dawning on him.

“He came out of no-where,” Aramis quickly tried to explain. “Titus I mean. The man had his gun raised at you, I was fighting off the boy and the man was pulling the trigger and suddenly Titus was just there. Standing between us and the shooter. The gun went off…..I’m so sorry.”

“No,” Porthos whispered and started shuffling forward on his knees towards his horse. Not Titus, he couldn’t have been shot. Yet when he approached the huge animal he saw the pool of dark red blood beneath his giant head and an open eye completely absent of life.

“No, no, no......” He shook his head furiously as his eyes started welling up. “Titus.....” He reached out, his whole arm shaking, and he placed a hand on the horses’ neck. Titus didn’t move, Titus wasn’t going to move anymore. Porthos let out a choked sob and then slowly leaned forward until he was burying his face in the animal’s mane. He started crying, weeping for his brave horse. The horse who had saved his life.

The others stepped closer but they didn’t disturb Porthos. They just stood guard and waited as the large man sobbed for a painfully long time. Eventually, when Porthos was no longer making any noise, Aramis knelt down beside his friend and placed an encouraging hand on his back. 

“We’ll make sure that Treville gives him a funeral worthy of a true musketeer.”

Porthos sniffed and sat up, his face wet with shed tears. “I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I dedicate this to my mother who is always more upset when animals are hurt in films than humans.
> 
> Next up.......the tears of d'Artagnan]


	2. D'Artagnan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Constance is getting stressed over a wedding dress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I think a lighthearted one is needed]

“I just don’t understand why you’re getting so stressed,” d’Artagnan said with a raise of his eyebrow as he sat at the table. He knew that the comment was going to get a snappy reply and he wasn’t wrong.

“Because the wedding is tomorrow!” Constance shrieked, infuriated that the man in her dining-room still didn’t get it. “And it has to be perfect.” She fiddled with the pins in her fingers and reassessed the dress that was hanging on a wooden structure which was meant to resemble a woman, except it didn’t have a head or arms. It gave d’Artagnan the creeps.

“You could go and find her and ask her to try it on so you’ll know how long it needs to be.”

“She’s getting married tomorrow,” Constance repeated, it was a piece of information which d’Artagnan already knew as she had mentioned it quite a few times already. “She’ll be busy and I said that I’d get on with it. Oh why did I agree to fix this for her?”

D’Artagnan was starting to wonder the same thing. He sat in silence and watched as Constance got even more stressed. She kept on pinning the bottom of the dress and then unpinning it again. He really hoped that the others would hurry up so he could escape soon.

“You’re right,” Constance eventually said, taking the pins out for the fifth time. “I need to get her to try it on for me otherwise I’m going to make it the wrong length.”

D’Artagnan nodded. Good, they were finally getting somewhere. “Or you could find someone who is a similar height.”

The words hit Constance like a revelation. She turned and looked at d’Artagnan which made the young musketeer panic. He hadn’t meant himself.

“No, you’re too tall,” she muttered and then sighed. A great sense of relief washed over him.

“Well I wasn’t offering my services,” he mumbled and then heard a knock at the door. He jumped up rather too enthusiastically and went to open the door. He breathed a great sigh of relief when he saw his three friends standing there.

“We should just go,” d’Artagnan quickly said which made the others look puzzled.

“What’s wrong?” Athos asked.

“Trust me, we should just go.”

“Oh curses!” came the female voice coming from inside the house. They all looked even more puzzled and Porthos pushed past d’Artagnan to go inside. Over the past few months they had all grown rather fond of Constance and they all cared about her. D’Artagnan sighed in defeat when Athos and Aramis walked past him too.

“Why are you cursing?” Porthos asked as they all entered the room. Constance was sucking on her finger which she’d just pricked. She stomped her foot in frustration and pulled her hand away.

“I’m trying to help a friend out and shorten her wedding dress for her but she ran out before I had the chance to measure it and now I don’t know how much to take up.”

Porthos looked a little bit lost about the whole thing but he watched as Constance’s eyes went from him, across to Athos and then to Aramis. There her gaze stopped and, very slowly, a huge smile started spreading across her face. Aramis looked a little confused. Constance was never usually so pleased to see him.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked. It was more unnerving than his usual slap around the face.

\-------------------------------------

“Can we come in yet?” d’Artagnan asked from the other side of the door where he was waiting with Athos and Porthos.

“You’re not ever coming in!!” came the voice of Aramis in return followed by a ‘in a minute’ from Constance. D’Artagnan chuckled and looked at Porthos who was also listening at the door and grinning with him. Athos wasn’t looking quite as amused considering the whole dress emergency was holding them up from something which he considered a lot more important. But even Athos was too scared to say that to Constance.

“Aramis, keep still,” Constance said from the dining-room, which made the other two laugh again.

“I can hear you!” Aramis yelled, not sounding very happy about the whole thing.

“Alright,” Constance said. “You can come in and give me your opinions on the length.”

D’Artagnan swung the door open so quickly that he and Porthos pretty much fell into the room. The sight they were greeted with was both horrifying yet incredibly amusing all at the same time. Aramis was standing there in a white wedding dress. His arms were covered with white lace and frills and a high off the shoulder neck-line showed off his hairy chest remarkably well. Silk lace crisscrossed over the front which ended in a pretty white bow at his stomach. But the way Aramis stood with his legs apart and hands on his hips wasn’t very lady-like at all.

“Don’t….” he warned his friends but it was too late, d’Artagnan was soon in hysterics. Porthos did his best to hide his amusement but did a very bad job of it.

“Aramis, you look so pretty as a virgin bride,” Porthos snorted and then he couldn’t hold back any longer, he started laughing. He got a glare from his best friend in return. D’Artagnan was reaching out to hold onto the table because he was close to falling over. Athos stepped in behind them both and eyed Aramis up and down.

“Not exactly……suitable attire for our mission,” he mumbled in such a serious way that it just made d’Artagnan snort like a pig in the middle of his laughing fit. He was soon crossing his legs in a mild panic but he couldn’t stop laughing.

“Fine, laugh all you like,” Aramis said before turning to look at Constance. “You do realise that I am never going to live this down?”

She smiled at him, “But you’ll be in my good books for a few weeks.”

Aramis rolled his eyes. He wasn’t sure that it was even worth it.

“What do you think of the length?” Constance asked and bent down to where the dress just about glided above the floor now that she had pinned it up.  

“I think he looks beautiful........I mean the dress looks beautiful,” Porthos said to Constance, trying to be helpful even though he knew nothing about dresses.

“Would you like to see the ugly side of me?” Aramis asked and tried to step forward but stumbled, obviously finding it rather difficult to move in the dress. D’Artagnan was soon hysterical again. Porthos turned to look at the younger man.

“Breathe, d’Artagnan.”

“I…I can’t,” he wheezed, he was doing a small dance around the table. Tears were rolling down his cheeks. He reached up to wipe his tears away with the back of his sleeve. “I think I’m about to wet myself.” Suddenly he raced for the door and disappeared out of the room. Athos sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Next up........Aramis.....it's going to be a sad one]


	3. Aramis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis gets them all into trouble but they can never stay mad at him for long.

“Where is he?” Athos asked sternly even though he knew that the two facing him hadn’t done anything wrong, which was more than often the case. However, they both looked guilty all the same and they also both shrugged in unison.

“Tavern.....church........” D’Artagnan attempted to helpfully suggest some places. Athos knew Aramis well enough to have thought of those two places himself but it did prove that the other two really didn’t know where Aramis was.

With a sigh Athos walked out of the garrison in search of their foolhardy friend. The other two followed. Athos knew full-well that, despite the fact they were just as annoyed with Aramis as he was, they would probably try to calm Athos down. Porthos would stick up for Aramis and d’Artagnan wouldn’t know whose side to be on. This was how things usually played out and Athos felt fine with it. Sometimes he had to be the bad guy. Sometimes he had to the one who told them off and got them back in line. Sometimes he had to be that person because they needed him to be that person.

Athos decided to head to Église Saint-Merri first. It was often the place where Aramis would hide if he knew he was in trouble. People who didn’t know Aramis might consider the action to be manipulative but Athos knew that wasn’t the case. It was just one of the only places where Aramis found peace, even if it was just for a brief moment.

After walking up the steps Athos pushed open the bronze doors. Athos knew why Aramis liked that particular church as the Gothic building was indeed a haven in the midst of Paris. When the sun shone through the stain-glass windows, each depicting the seven sacraments of the Catholic Church, it made the pillars glow a warm shade of yellow. The marble floor also sparkled and the majestic organ with golden pipes stared imposingly down at all of them. The walls were covered in colourful paintings and beautifully carved statues of angels and the Virgin Mary guarded the aisles. Athos quickly removed his hat. Whilst he was unsure about his own belief in God, he always believed in showing respect.

The church was quite empty apart from someone disappearing into a confession box, a woman praying in front of the alter and Aramis sitting in a pew with his eyes closed. His hands were clasped in front of his chest, gripping onto his cross with tight fingers. His mouth was moving furiously like he was mumbling silent prayers. Athos hoped that he was praying for forgiveness, thinking that was the least he could do. Athos walked down the central aisle with Porthos following him, but they didn’t disturb Aramis. D’Artagnan walked off somewhere to admire the paintings. Porthos nodded to a pew behind Aramis and they both sat down to wait. Athos suspected that Aramis knew full well that they were there which is why he made sure his prayers went on for an infuriatingly long time. Yet there was a small part of Athos that enjoyed the silence and peace of the church. That was until Porthos started snoring beside him and he had to give the man a sharp poke in the ribs to wake him up.

Eventually Aramis stopped his prayers and he made the sign of the cross before turning his head and smiling at them warmly. The smile only made Athos even more infuriated with him.

“And what do I owe the pleasure?” Aramis asked and Athos almost growled. Aramis knew full well why they were there.

“Not only did you get us all into trouble,” he hissed, trying to keep his voice down considering where they were. “But you then decide to not even bless us with your presence when Treville orders us to the garrison to pass out the punishment.”

“Was that this morning?” Aramis asked, trying to look ridiculously innocent about the whole thing. “My apologies, I forgot. What is the punishment? Allow me to do it on behalf of us all.”

“You can’t,” Porthos grunted. “We all have to go on the parade this afternoon thanks to you. In full uniform, marching behind the King and Queen for two long hours.”

Aramis’ face lit up. “That’s our punishment? But that’ll be a privilege.”

Athos and Porthos both looked at each other and then turned to Aramis.  For once Athos had a feeling that Porthos might do the telling off for him.

\-------------------------------------------------------------- 

“You were right, I like these sorts of parades,” Porthos said with a smile on his face. He was finding it difficult to march instead of dance as the musicians played a happy jig with their flutes and drums. Jugglers were either side of them showing off their skills to the gathered crowd. Aramis and Porthos both grinned at each other.

“Me too. And to think this was meant to be a punishment.”

“It is a punishment,” Athos mumbled alongside them as they all marched in line in their uniforms. Athos was finding the whole thing rather less joyful but they weren’t there for fun, they were there to represent the King’s musketeers in celebrations of the 20th anniversary of the King’s coronation. The streets were filled with people cheering and waving flags at the procession. Twelve musketeers marched in three lines behind the royal carriage where the King and Queen were waving at the crowd. Treville thought they would hate every second of it, but that wasn’t quite true, at least not for all of them. D’Artagnan, now proudly wearing his new musketeer uniform, was especially having a good time making women in the crowd blush by winking at them.

“Keep your eyes open,” Athos snapped at them all when he noticed how they were getting distracted by everything going on around them. “The King and Queen are very vulnerable.”

“Then it’s a good thing that they have the finest musketeers to protect them,” Aramis announced loudly.

“Yes they do,” Athos said. “And they also have you three here just in case the finest musketeers are busy.”

Aramis chuckled. There was a sudden shout from ahead in the crowd. “Down with the King!”

Rotten fruit and vegetables started flying from the crowd and hitting the carriage. All of the musketeers suddenly pulled out their swords and raced forward. A few more pieces of fruit managed to hit the cream white boards of the carriage before the sight of the charging musketeers made the offending young men run.

“D’Artagnan with me!” Athos barked and they both disappeared off into the crowd to chase the men who had thrown the food. Aramis, Porthos and some of the other musketeers immediately stood around carriage to protect it from any further attacks. Aramis looked in through the window and saw the Queen looking shocked but otherwise visibly unharmed. King Louis was leaning out of the opposite window, angrily shouting at Captain Treville.

“Are you hurt?” Aramis automatically asked Anne. When she looked up and saw him she noticeably relaxed. She shook her head quickly and smiled at him.

“No. Nothing hit me. Anyway it was just rotten vegetables.”

“Well….it does sting for a while if you get a tomato in your eye.”

Anne stared at him for a moment, a questioning look on her face, “You have experience of this?”

“Not with tomatoes no,” Aramis explained. “More melons.”

Anne looked entirely confused but laughed. Aramis glanced over at Louis but he was still too busy being angry to be paying much attention. So Aramis tentatively leaned in through the window a little.

“Are you well?” he whispered.

“Yes.”

“And the baby?” he glanced down and she gently placed her hands over her stomach to rub soothingly.

“I felt him move the other day,” she whispered back and then her smile grew even more and Aramis gasped in surprise and smiled back, a secret smile between the pair of them.

“Aramis!” He heard his name being yelled so he immediately stepped away from the carriage and turned around. Treville was marching over to him, not looking very happy.

“You and Porthos guard the carriage. The King doesn’t want any more surprises like that.”

Aramis nodded firmly. “I will dive in the way of the cabbage, sir.” Treville glared at him but then moved off. The rest of the parade appeared to go well and soon the royal party were safely delivered to the palace where the celebrations were set to continue in the form of a lantern party on the lawn. Yet it was once they were at the palace when Aramis and Porthos smelt something strange in the air. They both looked at each other.

“Smoke?” Pothos questioned and Aramis nodded. They both looked around and did indeed see thick black smoke bellowing into the evening air from somewhere in the heart of the city. Others around them started to gasp when they also saw the sight. The two musketeers started to move but Treville was soon there ordering them to stay.

“There’s a church on fire, people are dealing with it,” Treville informed them, having just received the message himself. “I need you to stay here until the party has finished.” Treville moved off and Porthos placed a hand on Aramis’ arm, knowing that his friend would be deeply concerned.

“There’s nothing we can do, ay?”

Aramis nodded and Porthos waited for a moment to make sure that the worry on Aramis’ face didn’t mean that he was going to disobey orders for the second time in a week. Yet Aramis stayed until Athos and d’Artagnan reappeared a little while later. The black soot on their faces making it very apparent that they were somehow involved in the fire.

“What happened?” Porthos asked as soon as they returned.

“The boys set fire to the church,” Athos explained. “People were running with buckets of water and miraculously the flames were put out before they reached any other building.” Athos turned to Aramis. “I’m sorry, Aramis.”

“Église Saint-Merri?” Aramis asked, the realisation suddenly hitting his face. Athos and d’Artagnan nodded solemnly. This time there was no stopping Aramis as the man started running.

By the time they all caught up with him the church was a smouldering pile of ashes. Whilst some of the stone frame of the church stood intact, the roof was gone and the inside was devastated. People standing around were starting to go home to bed looked tired and defeated. A couple of nuns remained, rocking themselves and praying. The Priest was being comforted and led away. Porthos treaded careful as he walked over the burnt remains of the pews, trying to get to Aramis who as just standing in the middle of the carnage.

 “Are you alright?” Porthos asked, genuinely very concerned for his friend. Aramis didn’t move for a long time, just stood, gripping onto his hat which he was holding. By the time Athos and d’Artagnan had come over he turned slowly, gave Porthos a small nod and then just continued to stand there. They all waited in silence until Aramis’ bottom lip started to quiver.

“Come here,” Porthos said and opened his arms up. Aramis stepped forward and immediately buried his face against Porthos’ chest. Porthos wrapped his arms around his friend and held him tightly. Aramis wept, his shoulders trembling. Porthos glanced over at the other two who just looked exhausted. Porthos knew that Athos probably blamed himself for it all somehow as well, as the man often did.

Porthos rubbed Aramis’ back soothingly as they all stood in what would have been the central aisle of the church. Porthos held him for as long as Aramis needed until, after a few minutes, the younger man did pull away. His eyes were red and he was finding it hard to look at any of them. He sniffed just as Athos reached out and put his hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze in a supportive gesture. D’Artagnan stepped forward too and placed his hand on Aramis’ back. Having all three of them near might not have helped him feel any less broken but it did help him feel loved.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. He really did have the greatest friends, especially since they never seemed to stay mad at him for very long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I just borrowed the name for the church. Thankfully the real Église Saint-Merri never burnt down as far as I know.
> 
> Next up......Athos.......which will be a challenge.
> 
> Still looking for a beta if anyone has the time?]


	4. Athos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a fierce battle with the Spanish, Athos is injured but determined to discover the fate of his friends.

It was a hard jolt that woke Athos up. Pain immediately shot up his legs and into his spine which made his body jerk. He let out a groan at the horribly uncomfortable sensation. Every limb seemed to hurt and he found himself unable to move as he attempted to open his eyes. He saw nothing but light blue in front of him and it took him quite a while to figure out that he was looking up at the sky.

“Athos?”

He tried turning his head as much as he was able to and saw the familiar face of Treville bobbing about next to him. The way Treville was moving and Athos was rocking just made the dizziness worse so he closed his eyes. Although that didn’t stop the way his body was bouncing around.

“Athos?”

Athos tried again, this time his eyes somehow managed to focus and he realised that Treville was on a horse. So what was he lying on? He tried to move his head, he saw wooden planks and a boot next to his ear which didn’t belong to him, it seemed to be attached to the leg of another man. He suddenly realised that he was on a cart. He turned back to focus on Treville.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice sounded more croaky than he had expected. He licked his dry lips and tried to move again but the pain was almost unbearable.

“You fought them off for five days. By the time I arrived with reinforcements the Spanish had already retreated. You did well. Rest now.”

Memories were starting to come back to him. They had arrived at the castle to help the soldiers defend it against a Spanish battalion who were marching on France.  The battalion had at least one hundred men, there were only twenty musketeers.

“The others?” Athos asked. Suddenly Treville looked away and out into the distance ahead of them both. There was a long pause, which made the worry inside Athos build.

“Captain, where are the others?” Athos asked again, finally having the strength to lift his head up a little. Treville eventually looked back down at him.

“We found you and four other musketeers. I’m taking you all back to Paris. The reinforcements are back at the castle burying the dead.”

This forced Athos to move, he looked behind him where there were more men in the cart, bandaged up and not looking very healthy at all. They were all good men, but not his friends. And yet he knew that his friends weren’t dead. Surely he’d remember if they had died?

“Porthos? Aramis? D’Artagnan? Where are they?”

“I don’t know, Athos. We couldn’t find them.”

Couldn’t find them? But they were right there with him. There in the castle.

“We need to go back and look.”

“No,” Treville shot back so quickly that he was obviously expecting to give such a response.

“They’re still at the castle!” Athos insisted and pushed himself up. The sudden action made him feel so dizzy that he had to close his eyes before he passed out.

“Athos, you’re injured. We need to tend to your wounds. You’ll need stitches.”

“Then stitch me up,” Athos said sternly, opening his eyes again and gasping at all of the overwhelming physical sensations he was experiencing. For the first time he saw his leg. It was covered in a bandage which must have once been white but was now a dark shade of red.

“Don’t be stubborn,” Treville warned. “And don’t delay these other men from getting their treatment. We need to get you all back to Paris. There are musketeers back at the castle looking for more wounded. If the others are they, they will find them.”

Athos shook his head slowly. “No. _I_ need to find them.” He started pushing himself forward towards the end of the cart, shoving his damaged leg with him. He heard Treville swear and then call the driver of the cart to stop the horses.

“Damn you, Athos. You’re all as bull-minded as each other,” Treville muttered as he sewed stitches into Athos’ leg on the side of the road. Athos let his Captain rant. He could tell that Treville was trying not to let the shock of losing so many musketeers show, so perhaps he needed to be angry at Athos for a little while. Once Athos was stitched and bandaged up as best as possible, Treville gave him a horse and reluctantly let him ride back to the castle. He could spare no more men so Athos had to go back alone.

When he got to the castle he was shocked at the scene which greeted him. Musketeers were walking around, both protecting the castle and collecting bodies. They were treating the Spanish with as much dignity as their own, burying graves a little way from the castle to stop any disease from spreading. Athos limped past them, trying to ignore the numb feeling crawling up his leg. He looked at the row of bodies which they had already taken out of the castle and were currently lying on the grass. Most of them were Spanish but he saw at least seven musketeers. His heart broke, so many men that he had known who had all fought so bravely.

He went into the castle grounds and the scene was no less gruesome. More bodies lying where they had fallen. Blood splattered over the soil on the ground, discarded weapons scattered about. He looked around but he still couldn’t see his friends. A confused musketeer came over to him.

“Athos? I thought you had gone back with the injured?”

Athos didn’t have the time to explain.

“Have you seen Porthos or Aramis or d’Artagnan?” he immediately asked. The man thought for a while and then shook his head.

“No, thinking about we haven’t. But we’re still clearing out the court-yard. I haven’t checked the battlements yet.”

The battlements, of corse. Yes they had been up there. Aramis and Athos were firing at the oncoming battalion with their muskets, Porthos was throwing down barrels. D’Artagnan was running around reloading weapons. Yes they had been on the battlements. It seemed to take Athos forever to get up the stone-steps, dragging his bad leg behind him. The dried blood on his face was starting to crack but he continued to ignore his injuries because he had to find his friends. They needed him to find them.

Once on the battlements he saw the brown leather coat of a musketeer lying on his side. He quickly went over, fell down onto his good knee and rolled the musketeer over. It was Pierre. Athos sighed and lowered his head. He remembered, Pierre was standing next to d’Artagnan. He had been shot in the head. He remembered seeing d’Artagnan’s face of horror as Pierre fell down.

They had been there, so where were they now? Athos frowned as he tried to tap into his memories. Why was everything so fuzzy? He looked back down at the court-yard and noticed the gate. The gate! The Spanish were trying to ram the gate. Porthos had gone to the gate and Aramis had jumped off the battlements onto the tin-roof of the stable, much to Athos’ dismay but he didn’t have the time to tell Aramis off. Athos leaned over and saw the dent where Aramis had landed before rolling off and running after Porthos to secure the gate. D’Artagnan……yes he had eventually gone to the gate too. Athos stayed on the battlements to fight off those soldiers who were trying to climb up on the ladders. No, wait….Athos went down into the court-yard as well. Too many men were in the castle, he had to fight them off with his sword. Athos staggered back off the battlement and down into the court-yard, he stepped over another dead solider before going over to the gate. The thick gate doors were buckled and destroyed. Large wooden splinters lay all over the floor. There was another dead musketeer with a spear sticking out of his chest and a couple of dead Spanish soldiers lying around the gate.

Athos was starting to find it difficult to move. All of his energy had drained out of him. He fell back against the wall and struggled to hold back his tears. Where were they? What had happened? He closed his eyes and tried to remember. Aramis was shooting at those coming through the gate, until he didn’t have the time to keep reloading so he dropped his gun and pulled out his sword. Porthos and d’Artagnan were standing side-by-side fighting for their lives. Porthos was hit on the back of the head with something which had been thrown. Athos had seen him fall to his knees. But then Porthos got back to his feet and continued, swinging his arm and hitting someone so hard that they had flown backwards. Athos had to throw his dagger at a soldier who was coming up behind d’Artagnan. Athos looked around and noticed that one of the bodies did indeed have his dagger sticking out of his chest.

“Where are you?” Athos asked himself, his voice sounding shaky. What had happened after they broke down the gate? The Spanish were everywhere. There must have been at least forty. There were less than half that number of musketeers but they were fighting for their lives. Athos started to remember the chaos, the shouts, the clanging of swords, the groans of the wounded……..wounded. Aramis had been wounded! He saw him fighting three men and getting caught in the side by the slice of a sword. He yelled at Porthos to come over. Porthos had come running and picked Aramis up like the man weighed nothing. Athos and d’Artagnan stayed fighting with the other musketeers as Porthos carried Aramis off….where? The Spanish had started to retreat, leaving from the same way they had come in, realising that too many of them were being struck down, those few remaining started to flee. D’Artagnan had turned and grinned at Athos and Athos had warned him not to celebrate too soon. They both stood with their swords and moved forward as the Spanish staggered back. Once they had left the castle even Athos started to relax. He had watched as the Spanish retreated back into the forest, d’Artagnan left to…..check on Aramis. Then…..an explosion! There was one Spanish solider left in the court-yard, he must have panicked. Athos saw him raise his gun and fire. He must have hit a barrel of gunpowder because there was an explosion. Athos couldn’t remember anything else.

Is that how his friends died? From the explosion? After bravely fighting off the Spanish for five long days they had been killed in the last couple of minutes. Athos felt tears roll down his dirty cheeks which were covered in filth and blood as he sank to the ground. What was he going to do without them? They were his friends, his brothers, his family. They kept him going. He never got out of bed in the mornings because of duty, he did it because he wanted to be with them. Porthos whose strength was as impressive as his large heart, Aramis whose passion and love of life was intoxicating and sweet d’Artagnan full of emotion and determination. They were a foursome, they weren’t meant to be alone, they weren’t meant to leave him. He started panicking, his fingers tingling, he couldn’t get air into his lungs. They couldn’t be dead, that wasn’t possible, not all of them. Why had this happened? Why hadn’t he died instead? It was all his fault, he should have protected them. They all looked up to him and he had let them down. He hadn’t been there when they needed him to be. It was his fault. Why did it hurt to breathe?

“Athos! Athos!” he heard his name being called and he looked up, blinking through the tears. He saw another musketeer pulling debris away from one of the castle walls.

“I can hear something!”

Athos had to force himself to move. The moment he put his foot onto the ground his leg gave way and he stumbled back onto the floor. But somehow, from somewhere, he managed to find enough strength to force himself back onto his feet. He went over to the other musketeer and helped him pull away the wood planks and straw which had once been a part of the storage area. Suddenly he heard a noise too. Only it wasn’t just any noise, it was a shout. With renewed vigour Athos screamed for help and another couple of men came over to tug away the debris. In the end it took a few more men and a good half an hour to pull back the stones from the castle wall which had fallen over the doorway. Once the stones were removed Athos finally saw them. They were all just inside the doorway, Aramis was lying against Porthos and d’Artagnan was kneeling beside them both. As soon as they all saw Athos they grinned from ear-to-ear, even Aramis, who was looking a little worse for wear.

“You found us!” d’Artagnan exclaimed. “We thought we were going to be stuck in here forever.”

The three of them were smiling despite the fact they also looked shaken and exhausted. Yet the relief was far more evident on their faces. Athos wasn’t sure if he wanted to hit them or hug them.

“Athos….” Aramis said, wincing a little as he tried to move. “Are you crying?”

Athos hadn’t even noticed the fact that his tears hadn’t stopped. Now, instead of tears of sorrow he was crying from pure joy.

“I suppose I am,” he said. “I thought you were……”

He couldn’t finish the sentence but he didn’t need too. 

“But we’re not,” d’Artagnan said, he was now up on his feet and going over to Athos. “We’re all here.” He smiled a little and tentatively reached out to give Athos’ shoulder a squeeze.

“Yes,” Aramis said, he was looking incredibly pale but Porthos was holding him protectively and Aramis didn’t seem to want to leave that position. “You should know by now that it takes more than a battalion of soldiers to get rid of us.”

"The next time I'll remember that," Athos promised and found himself smiling through the tears. There would be time to mourn the ones that they lost but, for the moment, Athos needed to be grateful that he could breathe again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Athos chapter was tough, I hope I did an okay job. Final chapter.....the one time they ALL cried.....]


	5. All of them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one time they all cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [After all the sadness, I though I'd end it with a nice one.]

“For goodness sake, Aramis.”

“It’s not my fault,” Aramis protested, reaching up to wipe his eyes again with the frilly white handkerchief which he was clasping in his hand.

“But it is your fault,” Porthos kindly reminded him as he looked down at the vegetables he was chopping with a far too blunt knife. “If you had just listened and not gone off by yourself, none of this would have happened.”

Aramis frowned. The frown would have been more affective if tears weren’t streaming from his sore red eyes.

“You say that like I made you come after me. Which I didn’t.”

Athos joined the conversation, “You know that we can’t ever let you get yourself killed. Come here.”

With a sigh Athos stepped around the large wooden table which was the centerpiece of the garrison kitchen. He shoved Aramis out of the way with a shunt of his hips. “It can’t be that hard peeling onions. Stop making such a drama out of it.”

“I’m not making a…..” Aramis stopped the sentence mid-flow. If Athos was offering to peel the pesky onions then he wasn’t going to complain. “..…my eyes just hurt.” He sniffed and wiped his eyes again and then watched Athos. It only took a couple of minutes of Athos peeling the onions before his eyes began to turn red. Aramis tried not to look too smug when Athos started blinking rapidly.

“See, it’s horrible, isn’t it?”

Athos almost looked confused as he shook his head, trying to stop his eyes from itching.

“I never knew that onions had such an effect.”

D’Artagnan chuckled nearby, “That’s because you’ve never cooked for yourself before.”

Athos would have protested but the young Gascon man was right. D’Artagnan came over.

“There’s a way you can do it which doesn’t make your eyes hurt so much. Look, let me show you.”

D’Artagnan grabbed a knife and started cutting the top of the onion and then sliced it down the middle. After that he peeled the skin away.

“Why does that make it better?” Aramis asked, he was still standing so close that his eyes were streaming.

“I don’t know, it just does.”

They all looked at him suspiciously and were rather amused when he started crying too. He sniffed and reached up to wipe his cheeks with the back of his sleeve.

“Well it usually works,” he said as his eyes watered. Porthos would have continued to laugh except he was standing close enough that he wasn't immune to the problem either.

“Damn you, Aramis,” he said as he blubbered, continuing to cut carrots all the same.

“Why are you damning me?” Aramis responded, still trying to defend himself. “Treville was the one who sent us in here.”

“That’s Captain Treville to you,” came the voice of the man who had just walked into the kitchen. Treville looked at all of them in turn, noticing their red eyes and tears he was confused at first. “I’m glad that this is turning into an emotion moment for the four of you. Would you like some privacy?”

“No,” d’Artagnan shook his head furiously. He didn’t want the Captain getting the wrong idea. “It’s the onions. They’re strong. It’s making us all cry.”

Treville almost looked relieved.

“Then I’ll leave before I start. I’m looking forward to my supper tonight, gentlemen,” he smiled at them all before heading out of the door. “And don’t spit in my food, Aramis.”

Aramis gasped at the accusation and waited for Treville to leave before saying, “I hadn’t even thought of that. What a good idea.”


End file.
